


First Kisses

by IShouldBe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First Kisses, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-22 04:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11959563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldBe/pseuds/IShouldBe
Summary: Drabbles...and longer of SSHG first kisses... And as ever, SS/HG HEA...Always :)





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

I'm blanking on all my other fics, as I can't put in the time to move them forward as I would want.

So…as and when—for the time being as I have to dedicate my writing time to words that can make a few pennies—I'm playing with these. Because I still need my SSHG fix… *twitch*

They'll be unconnected drabbles and shorts. Maybe longer. Maybe I'll extend them one day—unlikely, but you never know! I certainly don't.

Oh and if you want a look at my o-fic stuff, it's Kim Knox (I'm good to google ;-) )

And onto the first kiss…that isn't… ;-)

* * *

Severus Snape was doing it again. That thing with his mouth. The pursing. And then one long, pale finger would trace a slow —bloody  _agonising_ — path over first his top lip and then his bottom one, and…

_Rinse. Wash. Repeat._

Frankly, it was driving Hermione Granger absolutely batty.

Of course, she should be ignoring him as they sat in the staffroom, just a witch and a wizard in the heavy shadows before a warm and flickering fire. And she hadn't simply stayed back when everyone else left. She was there, because, well, it was quiet and she had marking to do.

She did. Honestly.

Her quill feather brushed against her cheek and —oh, yes— there was her inches-thick pile of scrawled-on parchment…

Severus was her employer, the Headmaster of the school where she was the bright, shiny and very new Arithmancy professor. It was only six days into the new autumn term and her thirty third day of working at the school.

And, well, she was inexplicably smitten with the wizard.

Hermione pressed her own lips together and glared down, again, at the first of her set essays. The atrocious teenage handwriting blurred in the soft candlelight as she lost her focus.

No, her interest in Severus wasn't…inexplicable.

The fire in the great hearth popped and cracked, flames hissing as the pine sap turned to steam and she stared at it…before her gaze —once again— slid to the wizard in the deep armchair set beside her own.

The war against Voldemort had ended the year before…and freedom from his bind to that evil wizard had transformed Severus Snape.

A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. Oh, he was still pale and billowy and obstreperous— All right, maybe  _her_  view of him had been transformed. The revelation of his character had made the know-it-all in her so very smug. She'd known there was something…skewed about his involvement with Dumbledore's death—

Hermione cut back those thoughts. She still could't dwell on the former Headmaster without her pulse spiking. Not simply for how he'd treated the wizard beside her…but for how he'd set his strategy for the whole bloody war—

She pulled in a breath, looked to her essays for three whole heartbeats, before she was staring at him again.

But Severus was healthy. There was a shine to his long, inky black hair, and his paleness was the soft glow of alabaster not the shriven looks from fatigue and stress.

And his mouth. His mouth —Merlin, save her— _his mouth_  was firm and smooth and held a beauty all of its own—

"Professor Granger."

She blinked, caught for a minute by the rich smoothness of his voice. The snake had not taken that from him and she was so very thankful. Oh, he was addressing her.  _She_  was Professor Granger.

Hermione's face burned and her belly did a little twist of mortification. "Sorry, sir, I'm still not used to the title."

Severus' lip quirked upwards in one corner, the gold of the fire molten drops in his dark eyes…

Hermione wondered how loud he'd scream if she stretched across the gap between their chairs and kissed him.

"It's late." He looked to the ancient, glass-domed clock on the mantle. It was about to strike midnight. "And as you have yet to put your quill to parchment and begin to mark your essays…"

Hermione closed her eyes. Shit.  _Shit_. He caught her. And she  _had_  been staring at him for hours. But something inside of her—maybe the short-sighted bravado that had her slated for Gryffindor—fought the hot surge of embarrassment.

She was single. One kiss and being Ron's girlfriend for five whole hours had been quite enough, thank you very much. And Severus wasn't seeing anyone. She'd made sure of it. Thoroughly.

So what was there to lose if she said…

"Can I kiss you, please, Headmaster?"

Severus stared at her. Full on stared at her. And blinked.

"I beg your pardon?"

Her contract with the school ran for five years. She sat at the far end of the table from the Headmaster's overly ornate chair. The arthimancy classroom was far from his office. Her own rooms were tucked into Gryffindor tower.

It was possible to avoid him for the next one thousand seven hundred and ninety two days, including school holidays…

Hermione gave him a quick smile. "Kiss you. I'd very much like to kiss you. Please."

He blinked again. Twice.

Then something flickered in his dark eyes. Something that looked like…satisfaction.

"As you wish."

It was her turn to stare and to blink and for her belly to tighten and her heart to squeeze so hard it broke a gasp from her.

Hermione was on her feet before she was aware of it, her quill fluttering to the floor, the thick stack parchment hitting the worn old rug with a dull thud. She stood before him, her legs like jelly. A nervous fingertip traced the line of his crossed knee, the smooth wool, the forbidden heat of his skin there, _just there_ , for her.

She looked up to meet endlessly dark eyes, the flicker of reflected flame in them mesmerising. "You truly want…?"

Severus uncrossed his legs and rose, something smooth and elegant and he was all shadow and power looming over her. But she wasn't a schoolgirl to be cowed my him. Not anymore.

Hermione reached out to stroke her fingers over his cheek, finding it warm and with a roughness that marked how late it was. It sparked an unexpected fire in her belly. Marked the touch as deliciously…illicit.

"Is that what you wish, Miss Granger?"

His voice was velvet and sin and she drew in a breath, her nipples tightening. Fuck, this wizard got her so ridiculously hot. She wet her dried lips and…blinked.

He was a leglimens.  _He'd known_. He'd  _always_  known… Merlin, had she been played? Had he drawn her in? Fuck… _Fuck_. But she didn't care. Not for a minute. That  _had_  been satisfaction in his eyes. He was willing to be kissed as much as she wanted to kiss him.

"Something…forbidden, perhaps? The idea of a dark wizard taking you in every way he knows how." His lip curled up in the most wicked of smiles. "Divesting you of the irritation that is your virginity."

"I'm not…"

He pressed a finger to her parted mouth and stopped her words. He leant in and his lips brushed her ear, the skitter of sensation a quick and hot line to her core.

"So,  _Hermione_ , where would you like me to kiss you  _first_ …?"

* * *

Let me know what you think! :)


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

I was having withdrawal from SSHG - other wips are being added to, but not enough to post. So here's another First Kiss :)

* * *

"Hermione…"

"No, this will work. It will." She wove her index finger between the infamous line of Severus Snape's jet-carved buttons and gave him a prim little smile, one that was at odds with her hurried words.

He was stiff and taut under her light touch and a muscle ticked —fast— in his jaw.

It was not the look she wanted. The one they had agreed on before this nightmare of a Ball had started. She'd wanted something casual…and most definitely _intimate_.

Merlin, his mouth was pursed. He looked oddly…strained and far, _far_ from pleased to be in her company.

He winced. "Perhaps you should try your unworkable scheme with someone else, Miss Granger?"

Shit, they were sliding into disaster if he was now calling her that. It'd taken her months — _months_ — to get him to agree to the use of her first name. "It wouldn't _work_ with someone else, _Severus_."

Hermione sucked in a calming breath. The 'unworkable scheme' had been her idea. Because she was tired of being 'good, old Hermione' the bookworm, the more staid member of the victorious Golden Trio…

And she _loathed_ that title. She truly did.

…The one who was good for a worthy quote about a worthy cause, but never, _ever_ moving out of her prim and fixed little box of 'prudish know-it-all'.

Never seen as daring or dashing. And a certain red-headed menace had been recently cementing that view, hadn't he?

_Git_.

Merlin, didn't they know her? Didn't _he_?

She'd set a teacher _on fire_ when she was twelve. Meddled with time. Aided an escaped convict. Fought Death Eaters more times than she cared to remember. Sent a member of the Ministry into the arms of a giant…and been so _very_ happy when the centaurs showed that foul toad of a woman more than just their _arms_ …

She winced. Umbridge —still free and with too much power in her froggy little hands— now made a furtive trip into the Forbidden Forest every quarter and cross-quarter, hoping to entice—

"Hermione."

Severus's low voice cut into _that_ unpleasant image.

She held back a sigh. This had seemed such a good idea with the details scrawled on a three foot length of parchment.

_Convince the wizard, who spends almost as much time in the Archives as you do, to partner you to the Third Annual Victory Ball_. _Pros and Cons. Discuss._

If said wizard happened to be the dark and _very_ dashing Severus Snape, Most Eligible Wizard, second year in a row, as voted for by the readers of _Witch Weekly_ —a certain ginger git being twelfth, behind a joint Seamus and Dean— then so much the better.

But…her plan was —in a word— rubbish.

People had simply frowned at her. Confused. Puzzled. Not looked in admiration at her quite daring gown and perfectly coiffed hair.

Because in the way that it mattered, she was still prudish and plain. And Ronald Weasley knew that. Knew _her_. Well, he didn't, and that was the point, wasn't it? She had one whole kiss to her name. Merlin help her… _one_.

And a sloppy, utter mistake of a one it was too.

Gods, it was mortifying. She couldn't even make a claim on Viktor. He'd been a perfect gentlemen because she'd only been fifteen…and admitted that fact in an interview. For the _Prophet_.

"This isn't working, is it, Severus? I will always be 'good, old Hermione'. Boring. Plain. Excessively virginal—"

"Oi, Hermione."

Ron hustled up with his arm lashed around an embarrassed-looking witch. Her name escaped Hermione, but she was certain the girl had only just left Hogwarts. Ravenclaw or Slytherin? She couldn't remember.

The young woman gave Hermione an apologetic smile, her cheeks bright pink, and no doubt aware —an hour into the Ball— that her War Hero date was a complete and utter meathead.

Poor girl.

"I bet you saw my interview in the _Prophet_? Brilliant wasn't it?" Ron grinned at her, as if they were still children and not three years out of school. As if her world still revolved around him. "And no hard feelings about the…y'know."

He waved his glass, and only the anti-spill charm on the tumbler kept the firewhisky from sloshing down the front of Hermione's gown.

"They asked about us…and I, well, I had to be honest, didn't I? You're always keen on the truth—"

"Mr Weasley." Severus' smoothly dangerous voice was a knife through Ron's rambling. He nodded to the witch who was growing redder my the moment. "Miss Rambert. If you will excuse us, we were about to dance."

Ron's brows drew together. "Mione doesn't dance. She doesn't do most things—"

Miss Rambert ducked her way from under Ron's arm and disappeared into the throng of people milling around the tables.

That level of self-preservation? Definitely Slytherin.

"Hey," Ron frowned into the shadows, "where are you going? Amelia!"

"I think you should look for a new partner, Mr Weasley. Hermione?"

Severus offered his arm to walk her onto the dance floor and her heart did a sweet little flutter. His perfect manners, coupled with fierce magical power and an often savage wit had been making her pulse race for months now. If not longer. And that had been under the 'pro' section of her scrawlings, hadn't it?

_Dress up and get Severus Snape to see you as more than a dowdy and irritating bookworm._

Her nervous fingers slipped over his sleeve and Ron was staring at her.

"You're going to dance _with him_?"

"We came together, Ron." She gave him a snippy little smile. "Did you not notice?"

He blinked. "You and…and…?" He was staring at her hand on Severus' sleeve then at her as if he'd never seen her before. "You're with _him_?"

Severus' fingers slipped over hers, his warm, rough palm covering the back of her hand. Hermione couldn't breathe, couldn't think. It had been a slow and sensuous slide of skin against skin…and so utterly lovely.

"She is indeed, Mr Weasley." Severus' rich voice was low and dark, pricking at her skin and making Ron blink several more times. "Hermione and I, well…" His smile was sharp and his dark eyes gleamed with wickedness. His voice dropped to a purring whisper. "You will _never_ know how…delicious she is, Ronald Weasley. Her taste. Her heat. How she whimpers…and Merlin save me, how she _begs_."

Ron's eyes were saucers and he staggered back, his face a deeply mottled red. His mouth flapped, but only strange gurgles came out.

"Good evening, Mr Weasley."

And Severus swept her onto the dance floor.

Hermione was almost as bad as Ron. Her face —she was sure— was scarlet. Her pulse drummed and the ache low in her belly, the want for everything he had purred to be true. It was a bloom in her chest.

People and music swirled around her, but she was totally ignorant of everything but the dark heat of Severus' hard body and his hands. His beautiful hands—

"Would that be agreeable, Hermione?"

Her gaze snapped up to his from the snowy white perfection of his starched collar. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

His dark eyes gleamed in the candlelight, that curl of a devilish smile tugging on his lips. "Should I? Make you whimper? Make you beg?"

She wet her parched lips and her blood thrummed as his gaze tracked the movement. She jerked a nod. "Yes. Yes, please. I would like that very much."

His mouth found the shell of her ear and she shivered. "If I have you, Hermione Granger." His voice was molten heat. "I will never let you go. Is that…also agreeable?"

"Gods, yes!" It came out on a tight groan and his no doubt wicked smile curved against her skin. Some semblance of her brain bubbled to the surface. "But why…? Why now? Why not before…?"

"You wanted, you needed a show. To let the wizarding world see the true you. Wild. Passionate… And so I waited. Waited, so I could do this."

He stilled in the middle of the dance floor and cupped her face in his large hand. And his mouth, his mouth dipped to hers. She gave up her breath to the first brush of his smooth, warm lips, to the tease of his tongue. To more. To his hands and his deliciously hard body. To heat and…and to passion. And…and…

Dear gods, she was _making out_ with Severus Snape in the middle of the Ministry Ball dance floor in front of a gawping crowd. This was…this was—

_This_ was the Hermione Granger she wanted to be.

"Stop thinking, Hermione."

And she did. Oh, yes.

* * *

Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

An odd little fic that just fell out of my fingers, when -you've guessed it- I really should've been writing something else. *sigh*

* * *

_Under the binding vow of marriage, a wizard and witch do not kiss._

Hermione scrunched up the pamphlet and seared magic through it, burning it to grey ash in her palm.

Ministry Directive #239. Otherwise known as That Bastard-Cursed Marriage Law. It had caught them all at the war's end, as the loss of lives became obvious when the haze of celebration cleared. So much magic lost…and so the Ministry stepped in —as it was wont to do— with the most asinine solution possible.

Binding betrothal contracts simply…appeared, with no chance to change the chosen spouse, or argue for another choice.

Hermione stared at her contract, sitting on the small table before her. The name on hers had been a shock. She huffed a laugh as she dusted the ash from her fingertips. At least magic had been sane enough _not_ to pair her with one Ronald Weasley.

The Ministry wanted more little witches and wizards, not one very brassed off witch obliterating one complete git of a wizard.

She sucked in a calming breath.

His, ' _…but, Mione, I'm famous and there are so many pretty and eager witches and I have to get all of this out of my blood, you can wait for me'_ still made her blood rush. Oblivious idiot.

A dark smile pulled at her mouth. He hadn't been able to do much of anything with _any_ pretty and eager witch for quite a few months after that declaration.

It was truly a shame that the spell wasn't permanent.

A year on, and Ronald Bilius Weasley still wasn't speaking to her. He usually squeaked, covered himself and scarpered.

Git.

"It's time, Miss Granger."

A little wizard opened the door to the small waiting chamber and gave her a nervous smile. Her treatment of her very ex-boyfriend was still at the forefront of the mind of every wizard she ever met. Good.

She stood and brushed down the creases in her simple, sleeveless gown. "Why can't people kiss under a marriage binding?"

"Bad luck, Miss Granger." He shook his head, his long hair flicking about his narrow shoulders. He picked up her betrothal parchment and unrolled it, nodded and quickly rolled it tight again. "Such bad luck follows you into marriage if people kiss. Ruin. Magical chaos. Bad, bad luck."

The muggle in her railed against the superstition, but this was the wizarding world where it was possible to synthesise and bottle luck itself. So, it was very likely true.

Holding back a sigh, she followed the wizard into the marriage chamber. Candlelight flickered over glassy, deeply green walls, as if the curves had been shaped by a paled obsidian. It was cool and peaceful, a balm to her straining nerves.

And her groom stood waiting for in the centre of the space.

_Severus Snape_. Standing straight in a sleeveless black robe, his hair tied back to expose the gleaming paleness of his skin and the bubbles of silvered scar tissue at this throat.

A fist tightened in Hermione's chest. There hadn't been enough dittany to prevent that level of scarring as she fought to save him. Even as she hated him for what she _thought_ she knew, she could not see another die that day. And she'd wanted him to face a trial, to be condemned publicly for his crimes. For his _betrayal_ …

It was ironic that she'd been at his subsequent trial and been his most ferocious supporter.

Now she stood before him, about to bind herself to him forever.

As the ever-helpful pamphlet in the waiting chamber had reminded her, there was no such as wizarding divorce, not if the witch and wizard wanted to keep their magic.

Yes, she was still thankful that Ron had exposed his true colours so early on. Married to Ronald Weasley. No. _No_.

"Miss Granger."

His voice was low and rich, untouched my that hideous snake and she twitched a smile. "Not for much longer."

Something moved into the blackness of his eyes. A spark of amusement? She hoped so. It would be a long one hundred and fifty years together without it.

He lifted a coal-black eyebrow. "Are you armed? Should I worry about my ability to meet the Ministry's edict?"

Hermione huffed. "You inconvenience one wizard…"

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Rumour has it Ronald Weasley pissed out of his navel for seven months."

Hermione snorted. "Only six." She lifted an eyebrow to match his. "And you're not…concerned, sir?"

His smile faded and his shoulders straightened. "I will always have a deep respect for my wife. You will never doubt me, Hermione."

"Oh…" She pressed a hand to her chest, unexpectedly caught by his words. And the word of Severus Snape. As golden as the rope that would bind them. "I hope to remain worthy of your respect—"

"Welcome, celebrants!"

Hermione frowned and Snape's eyes slid with distaste to the wizard who bustled up to them in garish, jewel-encrusted robes. He held the shining golden marriage cord between spindly fingers.

"Such a busy time in the chambers, I've never known anything like it!"

"We are not here by choice, you vacuous idiot."

The wizard simply blinked at Snape's dark growl and Hermione couldn't deny a smirk. Their tempers were matched, at least.

"Yes, well, we are here today in this sacred marriage chamber to witness the binding of Hermione Jean Granger to Severus Tobias Snape. A marriage vow taken under magic cannot be sundered."

He bustled through the —Hermione assumed— standard phrasing. "Present your wand arms to each other, please. And clasp hands."

Right hand to right hand, Snape's fingers threaded through Hermione's. Warm and strong, his magical vitality almost a living pulse against hers… And the unnamed wizard quickly and efficiently wrapped the cords around their wrists.

Hermione sucked in a quick breath, the fizz and burn of magic a sharp bite that fired through her veins. And spread, splintering, moving through every inch of her in a slow, inexorable wave. She breathed it, staring at Snape and —was it her imagination— but was she seeing the golden pulse of the same magic move through him too?

This had _not_ been in that bloody pamphlet.

"Oh my…" The garish wizard staggered back. "Oh, oh _my_."

"What the fuck is happening?"

Snape's voice was strained, tight and he was obviously as…as consumed by the strange power as she was.

"A reaction to the cord." The wizard shook his head. "Merlin, some magics should never be bound…"

"Then unbind us!"

Hermione wanted to glare at the wizard, wanted to yank her hand free of Snape's hold, but their hands, their fingers, the tight cord were melded together as if they were one flesh. And her gaze, well her gaze was on Snape's mouth. On his lips. And the fire in her was saying they had to kiss. They had to…

"Fight this…"

Was it the wizard or Snape muttering that command? She had no idea, but his mouth was really quite lovely. Firm, smooth lips, that needed kissing. Thoroughly kissing. Especially by her.

And she was closer now, his breath warm and sweet and if she stretched up onto the tips of her toes, there, almost, oh—

His mouth met hers in a wild clash of lips and tongue and teeth, and her free hand in his hair and his on her arse, clamping her to the solid length of his body and was that…?

_Oh_. She ground her hips against him, wanting more. Wanting heat and skin and fucking and babies and laughter and love…and _love_.

Severus —because he'd had his hand on her arse and his tongue down her throat, yes, _Severus_ — ripped his mouth from hers.

" _Soul-mates._ "

He whispered the word, almost a benediction, his endless eyes shining, bright with wonder and disbelief.

"Soul-mates… Dear Merlin, I have never… Such magical power." The binding wizard staggered back, and lurched into a glassy wall. "The kiss is denied, because to kiss and to not be soul-mates…destroys the binding, the witch and the wizard. So the law is set… Merlin." He sank to the floor in a heap of tinkling jewelled vestments. "Oh my, soul-mates…"

Hermione grinned and flexed her wand hand. The binding cord gleamed against her wrist and then faded. She eased her fingers free of his. "So, soul-mates…?"

"Are equally and fiercely powerful. Thought a myth." Severus cupped her cheek and traced a thumb, so delicious and light, under her still-tingling bottom lip. "My wife, as if our reputations were not dark enough. People will run screaming from us."

Hermione kissed the tip of his thumb. "Nothing new there, then."

"Nothing, indeed."

His voice was velvet and smooth and caught on the little sparks lingering in her flesh. Hermione shivered. And he, he lifted an eyebrow and that wicked shine to his eyes held endless promise.

Oh, it was nice to be bound to an observant wizard.

"More than observant." His mouth curved upwards. "Practiced. And… _dedicated_."

Hermione's heart was a drum, her flesh tight and she wanted nothing more than to escape this marriage chamber with her new —and very much wanted— husband.

With a smirk, and a pull on his hand, a turn and crack of disapparating thunder, she did just that.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed it :)


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

So, I have this deadline...you can guess the rest. Oh, and this earns its rating, btw

* * *

"I believe the muggle term is a 'beard', Miss Granger."

Severus Snape picked up his glass of firewhisky and his obsidian gaze fixed on her through the threads of smoke curling from the amber liquid. Her heart was in her throat. Draco had promised no one would question their little pact. And now here was his bloody _godfather_ doing just that.

"I'm not familiar with the term, Professor."

He hadn't invited her to sit, so she willed herself to stand before him in his small study, the heat of a great heath fire burning up one side of her body.

Snape had requested her presence at his house –a middle-sized hall in the depths of Cumbria— and Draco had said they'd make a weekend of it. Display their relationship to any doubters. And one of those doubters was _obviously_ his godfather.

Of course, she was still waiting for the bloody Slytherin Prince to show up. In the meantime, she was stuck, pinned under the relentless and all-seeing gaze of Professor Emeritus, Severus Snape.

"Really, Miss Granger. You surprise me." His voice was as smooth and rich as she remembered. Nagini's bite had not taken any of its beauty. He drew in a breath and recrossed his long legs. Golden light gilded his stern profile. "A beard, is someone –in your case, a young woman— acting as a mask, as camouflage to conceal her partner's homosexuality." He lifted his eyebrow. "You are Draco's beard."

Hermione huffed a laugh. "That's why I'm betrothed to him?"

"Yes." His lips twitched upwards. "Why would a young muggle-born witch with little money and spurious connections, wish to ally herself with the ancient and _very much_ connected House of Malfoy?"

"Spurious connections? 'War hero' opens a lot of doors."

"But not the doors you want. Not to academia, to research. As Hermione Malfoy –if your farce of a betrothal ever got as far as the final binding— the finest wizarding universities in Europe would welcome you." He lifted that bloody imperious eyebrow. "Am I correct?"

He had her. The doors had only opened in Britain. And then they were to brain-dead roles in the Ministry, or heading back to Hogwarts. She didn't want to be trapped as Snape had been. Brilliance snared teaching eleven year olds the very basic rudiments of the Boil Cure. No, those had never been her plans. But she was muggle-born and for all her lauded intelligence and the demise of Voldemort, European wizards wanted finer blood than hers. Bastards.

"What business is it of yours who Draco marries?"

He looked to his drink, his curtain of inky black hair falling forward. His voice was low. "I promised Lucius and Narcissa that I would watch over Draco." His gaze found hers, hard and sure and she willed herself to stand still. Snape might have fought on the side of the Light, but he was still a Dark Wizard. And a very powerful one. "Protect him from those who would exploit him. Protect his…best interests."

Hermione forced herself to laugh. "Draco is sneaky and underhand and cynical beyond his years." Her smile was sharp. "I believe he modelled himself on you, sir."

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched upwards. She couldn't tell if he was amused or planned to hex her. He was impossible to read. "So I should let this…interesting arrangement continue?"

His head tilted. Something moved in his gaze. It twisted her stomach. What _was_ that reaction to him? Nerves? Fear? Or something older and darker…?

"What of the Malfoy heir, Miss Granger? Do you both plan to get drunk and get the deed done, as they say?"

They hadn't discussed children. Hermione had assumed… The twist in her stomach tightened. Panic. _That one_ was most definitely panic.

 _Oh…_ The little asides about Ginny being pregnant. And that –even though he wasn't interested— wasn't Madam Potter simply glowing? Hermione had thought he was being ironic. The Slytherin Prince interested in babies? Never.

Merlin on a bike, Draco was playing her.

Yes, he was gay. She'd returned to their flat more than once –Draco wasn't comfortable in the manor— to his lily-white cheeks clenching and thrusting as he fucked a muggle he'd met in a bar.

But he was also a Malfoy. He had that whole aristocratic notion of the unbroken line of Malfoys stretching away to the Conquest. He could name every ancestor back to William I's pet magician. She often made him recite it when he was drunk…

Had he planned for her to be his little muggle-born brood mare? He could overlook her blood status, because she was Hermione Granger. Clever witch. War Hero.

The little shit.

Severus flicked his wand, his smile sharp. "I see you're already laced with a rather impressive fertility potion."

"What?" Hermione lashed her own wand at herself and the swirls of deep green showed her that even the wrong _look_ from a wizard would have her pregnant. "That complete bastard." She glanced up and pressed a shaking hand to her throat. "This is why you asked me here. You _knew_. And why Draco insisted he accompany me. To protect his shitty little plan. Where do you have you stashed him, by the way?"

"He is delayed at the Ministry." Severus glanced at the clock on the mantle. "For another twenty three minutes. He also believes you are held up at the Potters."

"May I?" She pointed to the deep, wing backed chair and at Snape's curt nod, sank into it. "I've been a fool." She caught her fingers in her hair. "I thought we'd come up with a good deal. I got my entry into academia. He got a famous wife who would open new doors and whitewash his image. And I never planned to sleep with him. Ever." She blew out a sour breath. "How bad is the potion? I haven't seen quite that colouring before."

"It's bad. Once you lay eyes again on your…betrothed, you will be unable to resist him. And you will conceive."

Hermione swore under her breath. She knew it had to be too good to be true. To set up a partnership with Draco Malfoy straight out of her extra year at Hogwarts… And fuck it all, she thought they'd been _friends_.

For the past four months, he'd simply used her…and had every intention of _using_ her, without any benefit _to_ her.

She snorted. What would Draco think was worthy of him? What potion…? Oh… "He dosed me with Aphrodite's Arrow, didn't he?"

Severus inclined his head.

"Vain shit. He's hardly an Adonis."

"You surprise me, Miss Granger. I've often heard how others consider my godson handsome."

"Not me."

She scrubbed at her face to keep her eyes off the dark wizard. Him. _Him_ , she would consider handsome, but there was little chance of a returned interest. And now, well, would he consider Draco's _leavings_?

"There's no cure for this potion" —Severus shook his head— "so what can I do, Professor?"

"Aphrodite's Arrow is short lived, but fierce. One act of coitus is enough. Draco, I believe, has tied it to your betrothal."

Hermione blinked. " _My_ betrothal?"

Severus silently nodded.

Her lips pursed and her thoughts spun around, connecting, swirling in the short time she had. A glance at the domed clock proved she had perhaps twenty minutes before she laid eyes on Draco Malfoy and, in all likelihood, jumped him right then and there.

 _Aphrodite's Arrow_. Fuck, that was an obscure potion…

Her gaze narrowed on the silent _potions master_ watching her with dark, inscrutable eyes. " _You_ steered him to this. _Why?_ "

"Draco came to me two days ago with a scheme to trap you. He detailed your…arrangement. It explained the betrothal, considering his…preferences."

"So this is cold feet, for you, Professor?"

Hermione was on her feet, the words bitten out as she paced before the fire. She'd always admired Severus Snape. Always. _Bastard_. And he was up to his neck in this as much as her shit-stain of a fiancé. Her heart squeezed at…at his betrayal.

She caught her fingers in her hair and turned on her heel. _The clock_. She had no time. A wizard she thought…honourable had thrown her life into chaos. All her plans, her future, tossed away for the chance —the single chance, because she doubted Draco would fuck her more than once— to plant the precious Malfoy seed in her womb.

"I gave him Aphrodite's Arrow because he already had something much darker. Something taken from the Malfoy vaults."

She stared at him in disbelief. "And that makes it _better_?"

Severus lifted his chin. "It gives you a _choice_."

 _Her betrothal_. Hers. Not Draco's. Not the combined magic. Solely hers. "I break the betrothal…" She was already tugging at the garish rock Draco had presented to her as they set their plan in motion. But it wouldn't shift, and pain seared around her skin and knuckle. "The bloody thing won't come off."

"A Malfoy betrothal is not easy to cast off—"

"That's very helpful. _Thank you_."

Severus' dark eyes narrowed, his lips pressing together. He put his firewhisky on a side table and sat forward in his chair. "Someone of your status binds it more tightly—"

Hermione glared at him. "A _mudblood_ , you mean?"

He hissed and snatched her raw and reddening hand. He held her fingers in his firm grip, denying her the chance to push at the ring. "A _virgin_ , you idiotic girl."

Hermione's already hot face burned harder. Was that why Draco had blinked when the ring fairly surged around her finger, platinum and emeralds a brilliant flare? There was so much she didn't know about wizarding customs. So much…and now that lack had her there, in Severus Snape's darkened study, awash with a fertility potion and only minutes from consummation…

She bit her lip and pulled in a steadying breath. His hand was surprisingly warm, the hint of work-roughened calluses pressing to the softness of her skin. "How…" She drew in another breath and willed her voice calm. There was time. There was still time. And he _was_ trying to help her. "How do I break this, Professor?"

"The potion is tied to your betrothal and your betrothal is wrapped around your status as a virgin."

She blinked. Twice. "If I have…have _sex_ in the next"—she glanced at the mantle and the maddeningly ticking clock— "ten minutes, then I'm free of the betrothal." Her belly tightened, the weight in her chest making it hard to breathe as the fact she couldn't yet name burned before her. "But still pregnant."

Severus Snape lifted an eyebrow. "Not…necessarily."

Bloody Slytherins and their need to obfuscate!

" _Professor_ …"

"Under these conditions, I believe _Severus_ would be appropriate."

Heat bloomed through her and her unsteady breath caught. He pulled her to him, between his legs and his dark eyes shone in the firelight. He'd always been so very…striking. A mix of darkness and light, his soul stamped onto his features. And that mix had fascinated her, for more years than she wanted to admit.

"I have taken precautions, Miss Granger. This night, it would be impossible for me to father a child." A spell washed around him and it was clear in the magical shadows, that no life would form from him. "As you see, a drop of Achlys' Tears protects us."

Hermione stared. "This…this was _always_ your plan. Since you found out what Draco meant to do. You could've warned me…"

"I could."

His long fingers swept away her covering robe and a stir of warm magic eased her trousers loose.

"But I vowed —when I survived that thrice-damned snake— that I would never allow anything I wanted to ever escape me again."

Hermione blinked. Her heart was a wild drum. "And I'm…?"

"You were too hasty in forming an alliance with Draco. Far too hasty."

" _You—_?"

But it came out on a squeak as a slice of magic…severed the seam of her trousers and they slipped down her thighs to crumple around her knees.

"I planned to _mentor_ you." Brilliant black eyes held hers, and oh, there were depths to that word. Ones that pulsed between her exposed thighs. "I am in good standing across Europe and beyond, Miss Granger. Even more so than the House of Malfoy."

"Hermione." Her name was strangled and she swallowed around tight, shallowed breaths. "It would be…appropriate."

Severus' dark smile —a twitch of those expressive lips, but more, so much more— caught her and held her. She'd never thought he would consider her, look at her —the old and familiar dark and desperate wish pushed to the surface— _want_ her. Not…

His finger worked now on his own clothes and Hermione wanted to look, wanted to see, but her inexperience, her shaking need, made a coward of her.

"If you please, Hermione?"

Severus' warm hand was on her thigh, urging her forward, urging her…over and in a hard heartbeat, she was straddling him. Her bare flesh pressed to the soft wool of his trousers and to his own scalding and exposed—

She sucked in a breath. "It's obvious I've never…" She closed her eyes and focused, willing out the embarrassing truth. "I have no experience, not even a little bit. My focus, my needs were always…elsewhere. And I did desperately want to do everything — _everything_ — but how I look, and there was only Ron, and he, well... No, that's a no…so I pushed everything away. Down. And I thought—

"Hermione…"

Severus' voice was low and calm and he cupped her cheek, his thumb drawing a soft line across her bottom lip. His touch broke her ramblings and she stared at him. So close, and his scent, warm and spiced and male, wrapped around her like nothing had before.

"I am a selfish man. I have waited and schemed and brought you to this point. I will fuck you. I will break the betrothal. And after…I will give you everything for which you…hunger. Both academically and…" His gaze drifted to her lips, before his eyes found hers again. " _Physically_. Is this a deal you accept?"

He had played her. Just as Draco had. He had more than likely played Draco from the second she agreed to the betrothal. Because he wanted her. Just as…just as she had wanted him. And now, now they could both have what they wanted. _Needed_.

"Yes." She jerked a nod. "Yes, I accept."

His smile was wicked in return, a flash of hunger in his gaze that fired her desires and reminded her that she was skin to skin with him.

"Oh—"

His long finger teased over her mons to her clit, a light and delicate touch, though his gaze remained fixed on hers. "There is not much time, but after, after this I will devote hours to your pleasure. Taste you. Map your skin with my tongue, my lips. Every inch…"

The velvet darkness of his voice wove through her, dizzying her thoughts, melting in the heat of his touch, the sparks flaring through her flesh. And the want, the desperate need coiling tighter and tighter in her belly.

Her fingers gripped his sleeves, biting into the soft cloth as her breaths came in short gasps in the silence of the room. She squeezed her thighs, rolling against his touch, wanting to ease the increasing ache and Severus groaned. The length of his cock seemed to swell and her desire to take him, for her to know him in every way surged.

She rocked into his fingers, slick and hot, her lip caught between her teeth as she held his fierce gaze. Oh, this was so much better than her most secret fantasy…

"That's it, find your pleasure, let it build, let it take you. As I shall. Fuck, girl, I've _ached_ for you."

His voice was a low growl now and chased fire through her veins. The hot need to meet, feed her desire, to have him—oh, oh _fuck_ —

Light and heat swept over her in a wild wave and the stretch, the searing fullness of him pushing into her, filling her, of the slide of her flesh down, down…

Severus' fingers bit into her backside, a delicious pain swirling around her, mixing with the dark pleasure, the pulse of him…inside of her body. "Gods…Severus."

He straightened and the change, the new angle broke a startled gasp from her. His breath burned against her throat, teased along to her ear, his lips brushing the shell. "I am where I should be, my witch, and I will fuck you. I will banish all magic in you but mine. Help me, help me to _grind_ it out of you."

And her hips were moving, rolling, squeezing, as Severus, oh gods, as Severus Snape deliciously fucked her.

She worked to the tick of the clock, its steady rhythm so fucking…perfect it was hard to breathe, to think. There was only his breath against her throat, his hands, his cock and her flesh, chasing the new fire, the promise of her release. The pressure of it there in her belly, sparked by the teasing rub of her clit against him.

"You are everything I want." She gasped the words into his clothed shoulder, the familiar scent of him pulsing through her flesh. "Everything I need."

Severus groaned and took her, fucked her, bounced and slammed her onto his cock, making her cry out, to cling to him, to arch against him and…fuck, fuck—

Her release surged over her, chasing magic around her flesh in streams of white sparks, catching his orgasm and smashing it into her own. Her mind spiralled away…and the only thought burning through her was that as brilliant as this was—and it was so _very_ brilliant—it would only get better. When they were naked…

Severus slumped back into his chair, holding her to him, his shaking hands tracing a path up her spine. Into the silence, he murmured, "Was my scheming worth it, witch?"

She huffed a laugh against the black silk of his cravat. The ring was still on her finger, loose…but not free. A kiss. They had…just done _that_ , but they hadn't kissed. "Kiss me and find out."

Severus lifted an eyebrow. "Ah, the ring, yes."

His long fingers pushed back her hair, and the sated warmth in his obsidian eyes swelled around her heart. Oh, she would fall hard for this wizard…

Their first kiss was slow and gentle, a lick, a taste, a breathless smile on her part, a smirk on his. Bliss, so much bliss…

And the Malfoy ring swelled, parted and fell with a soft, rolling _tink, tink, tink_ to the stone floor.

Severus' smirk deepened. "Now, you're solely mine."

She pressed her head to his shoulder, happy to find his warmth and his hold. He was still inside of her, the sticky evidence of their pleasure there on their clothes and her bared thighs. Strange, it was all so very strange. And wanted. Most definitely that.

She sighed as he wrapped the skirts of his coat over her nakedness, obviously as reluctant to move as she was. "And this is looking out for Draco's best interests, is it? Stealing his fiancee?"

His long fingers returned to their slow, mesmerising stroke along her spine. "I doubt he would've remained…intact if his plot had succeeded. You are a fearsome witch, Hermione Granger." He got a kiss below his jaw for that and huffed a laugh. "It was therefore necessary for me to act. It is, after all, in his best interest to stay alive. And whole."

Very true. Draco Malfoy would not have known a moment's peace if he manipulated her in such a way. "So selfless…"

"Severus, has Hermione come yet?"

Draco's voice echoed through from the hall and his godfather snorted. "Oh, I think she did," he murmured and Hermione growled at him. "Twice, I believe."

Hermione groaned and shook her head, but found there was no panic in her to move, to separate herself from Severus' firm warmth. She'd found Draco in much more…involved positions, after all. Let him see—

"What? _Hermione?_ Is that _my_ Hermione?"

Draco Malfoy's voice rose to a screech and he whipped out his wand. Severus with a lazy wave of his hand disarmed him. Draco blinked, staring first at his empty hand, then at his wand, caught by Severus. He frowned.

"Where…?" Draco's gaze darted around, the chair, the floor and then he was swooping down. "The Malfoy ring is in the _hearth_! That was designed by Lorenzo Ghiberti. Yes, _the_ Lorenzo Ghiberti—"

"Draco…"

"How dare you simply toss—"

"Draco." Hermione tried his name a second time. She was happy. And was not in the mood to entertain his pique. "You have been outplayed. Please leave."

The Slytherin Prince dusted off the ring on his immaculate robes and narrowed his eyes on her. "There is no cure for Aphrodite's Arrow. At least with me, your…offspring would have some chance of looking—"

" _Draco_."

Severus' voice was a low rumble, but there was a darkness to it that pushed through Hermione's flesh. His godson blanched, turning almost as white as his hair. And she, oh she squeezed around Severus, caught by a sudden need, by the power and darkness in her wizard.

Severus slid a lazy glance to her, his eyebrow lifted, but his calm belayed the fact that his cock, his cock was firming up…rather nicely.

"Leave. Now."

Draco pursed his lips. "Fine. My wand." He snapped out his fingers and Severus tossed it to him. "Keep her. She sheds, by the way. That hair is atrocious."

And he disapparated with a deliberately loud crack.

Hermione rubbed her finger at her ear. "He took that rather well."

"A house elf has emptied your flat of your possessions…in case he's feeling vindictive. You have a suite here."

She grinned at him and pecked his lips and found she didn't mind his precautions. He was meticulous and organised and quite, quite ruthless. And she—her career, her life—would benefit from those qualities. Still… "Presumptuous of you, Professor."

His fingers threaded through her wild hair. "I…plan ahead, Miss Granger." He angled her for a kiss, a brush of his lips against hers, sweet and warm, and his taste… She sighed against his mouth. "And what I gain, I will hold. Forever."

* * *

Let me know what you think... :)


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Hermione couldn't breathe. The pressure, the tightness in her chest was…all consuming.

The brightness of the hall stabbed at her, the swirl of music, of chatter, of the overpowering scents of people and food and alcohol, a tumult that spun and twisted over and around and through—

A clean breath. One clean breath in the shadow of this fucking alcove. Just one. Her heart pounded, a wild drum in her head, in her veins and she gripped the back of the nearby chair, her knuckles strained and stretched, the pain of it pushing into her bones.

Fuck. _Fuck_. Not here. Not _now_ —

"Miss Granger…"

Her head snapped up and the vice in her chest squeezed that much harder. _Him_. Oh fuck. For _him_ to see her on the very edge of falling into a breathless puddle of panic—

Long pale fingers tilted her chin up and she stared, startled, into that familiar black gaze. He was silent, simply breathing. Drawing in air and letting it out through the perfect purse of his lips. And she echoed it. Her one clean breath.

"There…" And his voice was a velvet warmth that loosened some of the manic rush to her veins. "Listen to me." His callused thumb teased along the line of her jaw. His touch was—her belly hollowed— _magical_. And why was he here with her? Damn him, was he playing with her? "Tonight, witch, let me take control. Me. Just…me."

He was. Oh, he bloody well _was_. Sour pain chased away the warmth, the hope and her old anger was back. Hermione opened her mouth to demand _who did think he was_? She was not one of his…his _war groupies_ —

"Hermione… I _will_ play with you."

He was all shadow and strength and the delicious hints of spices and the old ache rose in her as it always did. The need she had for him. Always—and only—for _him_.

"But I promise it will be in ways that we'll _both_ enjoy."

His words were sin. And heat. And the promise of every dark and decadent act that had twisted through her fantasies. Of blindfolds and silk on her bare and straining skin. Of spankings and collars and of being his _very good girl_ …

Hermione's eyes fluttered shut, caught by those illicit thoughts. The wild panic of her flesh spiralled down and away and a slower…slower and a more dangerous thrum filled her in its stead.

"Oh, little witch. You're wound tight." His lip curled upwards and her heart squeezed, the familiar want chasing through her. "Tighter than Minerva's knicker elastic."

Hermione barked a shocked laugh and slapped a hand to her mouth. "Sir!"

Heat flooded her. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. It was a mortifying rush that was in part outraged at him for the insult to her former master…and at herself. The word 'sir' had always been a molten slide through her flesh. Ached for. Wanted. _Illicit_. And she was twenty three. Hogwarts was years in the past for both of them. She had no need to call him sir. None. It was mortifying.

And now the urge to run only added to the heat of her horror. To run and hide and try to forget what he'd demanded of her…and how much she desperately wanted him to do just that.

"Miss Granger!"

It was short and sharp. A reminder to pay attention, to look to him and only him. And her head snapped up to meet that midnight gaze. An endless and riveting black.

A callused fingertip drew air above her cheekbone, the barest of touches…but it scorched through her. "You need this, Hermione. And have for some time."

"Then why have you never—?"

She bit off the rest of the question. But it was there, unsaid.

Why had he never approached her? After the Final Battle, with him healed from that dreadful snake. The short time he remained at Hogwarts with her as Minerva's apprentice. Numerous events, just like this one, celebrations, and ministry shindigs and conferences were they both spoke as Masters.

He had been a shade to her. Always. And trailed by his war groupies. Vacuous—and not so vacuous—women eager to cater to the every whim of the dark spy and war hero, Severus Snape.

"I am not a good man, Hermione. And I was trying to be. But…" He drew a slow line along her jaw, more of a brush of air than a true touch. Still, it swept through her, down to her toes. "You need this. Me. And I…fuck, girl, I want to be yours."

A tear broke free, she couldn't stop it, the fist squeezing so hard in her chest it was painful with the hope, the ache that he wasn't simply saying this. That he truly…

His thumb caught her tear and it glistened on the curve of his skin. "The bright tear of a virgin." His lip curled up in a slow, dark smile. "Just before she is thoroughly…deflowered. Priceless."

Her mouth parted. Was that all he wanted from her? Because he knew he could have the Ice Princess, as the shits at _The Prophet_ had started to label her. Thanks to one bitter and spurned idiot, Ronald Weasley.

He licked the tear from his thumb, the sight of the tip of his tongue shocking through her. Something…decadent. And his dark eyes never left her, gleaming and hot even in the shadow of the alcove. "Make no mistake, I want _everything_."

" _Everything?_ "

The word was mouthed, no sound escaping.

"No one can see us, little witch. There's only you and I. And I, I will keep all of your secrets." He lifted that infamous Snape eyebrow and her breath caught. "And what you truly need, Miss Granger, is to be…taken in hand. Is that not so?"

His tone had changed. It was a dark and delicious rumble, edged with his undeniable power.

_Gods…_ Hermione blinked, her heart a drum. She was certain her face was quite, quite pink…but she jerked a nod, hoping, _hoping_ that he truly meant what she _thought_ he meant. One word finally escaped her. " _Please…_ "

"Please, what?"

His hot breath stirred over her parched and parted lips, the ghost of their very first kiss an ache in her straining flesh.

He wanted everything. And so did she.

"Please… _Sir_."


End file.
